CHAPTER 35: FATED COMPLICATIONS

Louis’ POV

I remember promising Alistair some things before leaving for Elhurst, and now that I was back, I intended to fulfill them.

No more secrets — that was the first promise.

He deserved honesty after everything I’d put him through.

The second was simpler, at least in words — a whole week together. No meetings, no phone calls, no late nights in the study pretending paperwork mattered more than he did. Just us.

And the last was gifts. Little things — things that reminded him he was seen. A watch he once pointed at in a store window, a book he’d mentioned wanting but never bought. I’d made a list.

At the time, I really believed I could make things right with effort — that love was something you could rebuild brick by brick if you only worked hard enough.

But standing at the doorway now, watching him sit quietly on the couch with that distant look in his eyes, I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

Maybe I was too late.

I cleared my throat softly, holding the small box in my hands. "I brought you something," I said, setting it on the table beside him.

He looked up, startled at first, then smiled — that polite kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Louis, you didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," I replied, taking a seat beside him. "You mentioned this before I left. I thought..." I paused, shaking my head. "I thought you’d like it."

He opened the box slowly. Inside was a simple silver chain, subtle but elegant, the kind that caught light in the right way.

"It’s beautiful," he said softly.

But something in his tone didn’t match his words — something hesitant, careful.

He ran his fingers over the chain, but his gaze was somewhere else entirely.

"Alistair," I said gently, "are we okay?"

He looked at me then — really looked — and for the first time, I couldn’t read his expression.

"We’re fine," he said after a long moment, voice quiet. "Just... a lot on my mind."

I nodded, though the words didn’t convince me. I wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to remind him that I was here — but he pulled slightly away before I could.

That tiny motion cut deeper than I expected.

He stood after a moment, clutching the chain in his hand. "Thank you, Louis. Really. It’s thoughtful."

And then he was gone — heading toward the hallway, leaving me alone on the couch, surrounded by silence that felt too familiar.

The clock ticked softly in the background.

I leaned back, exhaling.

Something had shifted between us.

And I didn’t know if it was something I could fix — or something I had caused long before I ever left for Elhurst.

---

A week was almost over.

We’d spent time together — more than we had in months — yet somehow, I could still feel the void between us. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet. Subtle. The kind of emptiness that creeps in between words and smiles and lingers in the spaces where love used to breathe easily.

We cooked together, watched movies, even went for a walk one evening when the sky was painted in fading orange. He laughed — genuinely — and for a second, I almost believed things were fine. But every time our hands brushed, he hesitated. Every time I leaned close, his eyes darted away.

We were closer than we’d been a few days ago, yes.

But it felt like I was no longer in that position — the place in his heart where I used to belong without question.

Now, I was somewhere else.

Somewhere further away.

He still smiled when I spoke. Still laughed at my bad jokes. But I could see it — the distance. It lived in the way his voice softened around my name, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.

One night, as he sat reading by the window, I found myself just watching him. The soft light touched his hair, and for a moment, I remembered the way he used to lean into me without thinking — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, it felt like every small touch required permission.

I wanted to ask him what had changed.

But the truth was, I already knew.

Something — or someone — had filled the quiet that used to be mine.

"Alistair." I called, walking toward the room. I was looking for something—though I wasn’t sure what anymore. Maybe the shirt I’d left draped over the chair, or maybe just a sense of calm I’d been missing all week.

But when I stepped inside, I froze.

Charles was there. Again.

In my room.

He stood beside Alistair, handing him a cup of coffee like he’d done it a thousand times before—like it was his place to. Alistair took it, his fingers brushing Charles’s lightly, and something sharp twisted in my chest.

For a moment, none of them noticed me. They were just... comfortable. Talking in quiet tones, a soft laugh escaping Alistair’s lips.

That laugh used to belong to me.

When Charles finally turned and saw me, he smiled politely—too politely. The kind of smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Oh, Louis," he said lightly, "I was just keeping Alistair company. He mentioned you were out."

My voice came out lower than I intended. "In my room?"

Alistair looked up, startled, as if realizing too late how this must have looked. He opened his mouth to speak, but I was already moving further into the room, my gaze fixed on Charles.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not entirely. It was something colder—something that whispered you’ve already lost him, and you’re just too late to admit it.

Louis, the door was open, don’t act like that." He said it with that same infuriating smirk, the one that made my pulse spike and my patience thin.

He knew. He always knew.

Alistair shifted beside him, setting the coffee down too quickly, like he wanted to stop the heat building between us. "Charles—don’t start."

But Charles just shrugged, eyes flicking between us, that smirk never leaving his face. "Start what? I’m just saying, if you don’t want people in your room, maybe try locking the door."

I took a step closer. "You don’t belong here."

He tilted his head. "Funny, I could say the same thing. Half the time, Alistair seems more comfortable with me than with you."

The words landed like a knife. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Alistair’s eyes widened. "Charles!"

But it was too late—he’d said it, and I’d heard it.

I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. "Enjoy your coffee," I said quietly, forcing my voice to stay calm as I turned to leave. "Both of you."

---

Alistair’s POV

"Louis, wait!" I called, rushing after him before the door could fully close. My heart was pounding—part guilt, part frustration.

He didn’t stop, not right away. His steps were sharp, almost mechanical, as he moved down the hallway.

"Louis, please," I said again, finally catching up and grabbing his arm.

He froze but didn’t turn. For a moment, all I could hear was our breathing—his steady and cold, mine shaky and desperate.

"I didn’t invite him," I said softly. "He just came in, and—"

"—and you didn’t tell him to leave," Louis cut in, his voice calm in that way that meant he was anything but calm.

"I didn’t want to make a scene," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

Louis turned then, eyes burning—not with anger exactly, but with something heavier. "A scene?" he repeated. "Alistair, I walk in and see him in my room, handing you coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and you think I shouldn’t react?"

"I didn’t mean for it to look like that."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "You never do."

That stung. I wanted to reach out, to make him look at me, but my hands felt like they didn’t belong to me anymore. "Louis, I love you. You know that."

He looked at me then—finally—but the silence that followed said more than any reply could.

---

Louis’ POV

"My brother being alone with my fiancé, in a bedroom seems fine. I know he’s just handing you coffee, but still." I said, my tone calm, but my grip on the doorframe betrayed me.

Alistair looked down, guilt flickering across his face. "Louis, don’t make it sound like—"

"Like what?" I cut him off, my voice a little sharper now. "Like there’s something I should worry about? Because lately, every time I turn around, Charles is there."

He sighed, stepping closer. "You’re overthinking it. He’s trying—"

"To do what?" I asked quietly, leaning in, my eyes searching his. "Win your sympathy? Or something else?"

That made him flinch. His lips parted like he wanted to defend Charles, but the words didn’t come.

I exhaled slowly. "I’m not angry," I lied. "I just don’t like surprises. Especially when they come from him."

The air between us grew heavy—awkward, fragile. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to make things right, but even that small movement felt rehearsed, uncertain.

I touched his head, sighing.

"Don’t worry, I’m not angry. It’s a small issue. But next time, just don’t bring Charles into our room," I said softly.

He nodded, eyes low, guilt etched into his face. I turned away before that look could reach me—before it could make me question if I was being too harsh or not harsh enough.

The hallway felt colder than usual. Each step echoed a thought I didn’t want to have.

What was my fated mate trying to do?

Was this punishment for choosing Alistair? Or was it his way of reminding me that fate doesn’t just fade because I turned my back on it?

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe this was the universe’s cruel little joke—watching me try to build a future with one man while the bond to another refused to die quietly.

But as I reached the stairs, I caught a faint trace of Charles’s cologne lingering in the air.

And for a moment, I couldn’t tell if what I felt was anger... or longing.